


Breathing

by e1even



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e1even/pseuds/e1even
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing went ‘bump’ in the night, for either of them, the monster was in his bed and the ghosts were already hiding in his thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually been planning this quick thing since episode 3, and even then I still wrote it as a speedwrite. Whoops. Pretty great series so far, though! I'm excited for the next episode, tensions are rising pretty high! Set pre-series.

This, the middle of the night, alone. Nic’s face in the dark, shadows swallowing up nearly every bit of their moments, and he had no problems in being silent, Nicolas was breathing heavily, and Worick wanted to drink in those soft sounds, immerse himself and sink into the feeling of the way they were touching each other, calloused fingers on skin, down scars, over shifting planes of muscle.

He’s never asked, but wonders if Nic’s other senses were different, wonders until he remembers Nicolas is a Twilight, remembers he wouldn’t be able to tell him if they were better anyways when he had no point of comparison. The realizations are all within seconds, and sometimes he wonders for fun, if Nicolas was human, if Nicolas would have a chance to live as long as he would. Worick leans down to kiss him, and this way, nothing matters.

Monster, monster. The words followed Nicolas, and it wasn’t Worick’s job to cut off those chains, wasn’t something he’d even think about. Hell, in a way, he held them, in a way, Nicolas was one of his own. Nic and him, their lives were intertwined, but their demons were their own.

Nicolas had one hand resting on Worick’s bicep, one hand between the two of them, those rough fingertips tentatively dragging up Worick’s shaft, almost gentle, almost skeptical that this was really happening. Worick could hardly mind, they had all the time, here, for the cover of darkness.

Faker, faker. Wallace, Wallace. Voices calling into the night and yearning for answers, or, perhaps that was a bad metaphor, there were no lips for Nicolas to read such wants from, even though they echoed inside him, too. Nothing went ‘bump’ in the night, for either of them, the monster was in his bed and the ghosts were already hiding in his thoughts.

Inhale, exhale. Worick keeps one hand on Nic’s hips, the other still running across his pectoral muscles, brushing over his nipples while his mouth was still busy, chapped lips on chapped lips to taste those rough breaths, deep groans. Sight wouldn’t help him here, though Nicolas still watched him, to the point Worick wondered how much he could see that he couldn’t.

This wasn’t even something like a dirty little secret, no more than either of their pasts. This place, Ergastulum, left no real room for any of those, any more than their pasts, any more than how they existed and probably shouldn’t exist at all. God, Nicolas was a living monolith to all the things he wished he could forget living through, and his body was too often a way for Worick to remember, to forget, to drown himself in something else.

He’s focusing his attention a little now, moving with more intent, hand gripping onto his hips a little stronger, how hard he felt even under the light touch, the slow situation contrasted with the desire brewing in his gut. He tugged at Nic’s lower lip with his teeth, fingers now playing with one nipple, and how Nicolas probably abhorred being sensitive there, told Worick he wasn’t some client.

Worick never thought about it quite like that, when he was feeling the scar across Nic’s chest, listening to hitching breaths, the rumble of his groans against his skin, making a shiver run down his spine. Attraction was beyond the carnal want he had, sometimes, to have Nic panting into his mouth. Together, they always were together, for such a long time, together, and how much time did they have left before he could no longer do this? What a selfish thought, and Nicolas was still in the moment, in front of him.

At some point, Worick used to be concerned Nicolas was doing this for his sake, and it’s too obvious now, it’s for both of them, both of them are wanting to drag the other down into this intimacy, this situation where they were alone and each other and nothing mattered but the slide of skin against skin, the ways they were touching each other. There was nothing quite the same as how they captivated the other, hidden behind masks to face the past and present and whatever was coming for them. This was probably what they both wanted, to shatter that composure and drink it in, familiar, all of it so amazingly familiar. Achingly familiar to hold and touch and draw sounds, reactions from.

Nic’s hand finally curls around Worick’s cock, and he’s not trying to stifle the groan he makes as he pulls away from the kiss, finally gets more solid contact, even if Nicolas can’t hear him, neither can the neighbours, nor would they care. He’s letting go of Nic’s hip so his hand can slide down, brushing against soft skin and scar tissue so Worick can return the favour. Nicolas bucks his hips almost immediately, never quite having the same kind of control Worick has, and especially not any of the experience Worick has.

It didn’t really matter to him, and his other hand is still rubbing over and playing with Nic’s chest, while the hand on his length gets a little more insistent, a little more urgent, and Worick smiles a bit at that. Maybe this is the only time he likes watching Nicolas lose control, since he can’t consider some consequence apart from a deep moan, progressing what they had.

This couldn’t last for long, it wasn’t enough for Worick to touch Nic just like this, he needed more, assumed Nic likely needed more judging from his own reactions which he could feel more than see or hear. The sounds of the night could hardly interrupt them, in their moment.

They’re shifting, Worick ends up with a hand around both of their lengths, and Nicolas is cupping the side of his face, thumb rubbing the top of his cheekbone, where the eyepatch usually rested, and it brought back a rush of bad memories, his body bifurcated between pleasure and something else.

It probably wasn’t regret, could hardly be regret. Nicolas was a little too aggressive for that to be true, they were both too into it, in too deep and Worick was beginning to feel a little too hot, moved his hand a bit faster, and Nic is leading them both into a kiss when Worick shuts his eyes, but Worick’s the one deepening it, he’s usually the one leading any of this, knowing what he’s doing, and the way Nic just follows him used to terrify him.

Nicolas probably figured that out, sometime along the way, and now they spent the night together like they did anything else, in a rough companionship, some crooked tandem and the kiss was aggressive, so much more aggressive than the way Worick was pumping them both. He kept it slow, but firm, paying no heed to the needy way Nicolas rocked his hips up into it, relishing in the way the sensitive underside of his own cock rubbed against Nic’s own, the small, low sounds he made into Worick’s mouth.

The way Nicolas was reacting to him was captivating. It always was. Worick wasn’t sure how exactly, but nothing, no women, no matter how much his type, could really affect him in this way. Nic was just alluring, body horribly honest and jagged around the edges. Perhaps their jagged edges fit together a little too perfectly, when Nicolas sounding a little strained and a little out of breath and the taste of his mouth and the feeling of Nic, hard and wanton, hand formerly on his cheek hardly holding on, fisted in his hair, Nic moving against him was all Worick felt like he needed, when they did this, all he needed to make him feel like he was soaring, tension gather deep in his stomach.

Worick would be worried about how this was the only thing that felt real, if he wasn’t so caught up in trying to make Nicolas, smaller and probably far stronger Nicolas come apart at the seams. If he wasn’t feeling close himself from that alluring scenario playing out right in front of him. He slid his hand so the precum they were both practically leaking at this time smoothened up the ride. Ending up coaxing another groan out from Nic when he tried to roughen up how both hands were moving, and felt Nic pull a bit at his hair, making himself moan into the flickering kiss, broken so often so they could breathe and reconnecting because Worick needed to taste Nic’s breath stuttering and the sounds so low, he could feel them in his body’s core.

It was a little hard to breathe, but Worick’s ability to multitask saved him from too much trouble, and Nic seemed a little out of it, a little dazed and he’s trying to deepen the kiss, lick into Worick’s mouth when Worick’s still touching him in two places at once, like he’s trying to immerse himself in the moment. Worick’s perhaps a little too detached from even though he’s racing towards that peak, chasing it, even if slowly.

They wouldn’t last much longer, anyways, Worick wouldn’t let up from any of the things he was doing, maybe speed up a little, a lot, try to push Nic over the edge because watching him orgasm was always what got Worick off. Nicolas was just more sensitive, perhaps a little less inhibited at this time, enough to let Worick see something, everything he needed to, and Nicolas just sounds desperate, and the way he’s rutting against Worick, that little edge of pain in his scalp, he pinches one of Nic’s nipples, hard, and that just ends up being it.

Nicolas comes, quietly, Worick’s mouth muffling a lot of the sounds, seizing up and shaking and Worick’s still milking him through it, enjoying the little sounds and the warmth and the intimacy and the knowledge that he’s the one who guided Nic through this, got him to this state, and Worick’s still kissing him, coming not too long afterwards from Nicolas writhing against him as he’s trying to get his body under control.

They won’t lie here together. Nicolas will stand up, and leave, Worick might go to sleep, might not sleep at all, but for now, Worick could close his eyes, and listen to the sound of their heartbeats, their breathing in tandem.

This too, would pass in what may as well be silence.


End file.
